hollow tone "Stabbed!" Then
seizing the other by the shoulder, he shrieked: "Stabbed! That means
murdered-killed!"

"He thrust his dagger into her heart, she must have died as quickly as if
struck by lightning. Then Zorrillo went away, God knows where. Who could
suspect, that the quiet man. . . ."

"You let him escape, helped the murderer get off, you dogs!" raved the
wretched man. "We will speak of this again. Where is she, where is her
body?"

The captain shrugged his shoulders, saying, in a soothing tone: "Calm
yourself, Navarrete! We too grieve for the sibyl; many in the camp will
miss her. As for Zorrillo, he had the password, and could go through the
gate at any hour. The body is still lying in his quarters."

"Indeed!" faltered the Eletto. Then calming himself, he said, mournfully:
"I wish to see her."

The captain walked silently by his side and opened the murderer's
dwelling.

There, on a bed of pine-shavings, in a rude coffin made of rough planks,
lay the woman who had given him birth, deserted him, and yet who so
tenderly loved him. A poor soldier's wife, to whom she had been kind, was
watching beside the corpse, at whose head a singly brand burned with a
smoky, yellow light. The little white dog had found its way to her, and
was snuffing the floor, still red with its mistress's blood.

Ulrich snatched the brand from the bracket, and threw the light on the
dead woman's face. His tear-dimmed eyes sought his mother's features, but
only rested on them a moment--then he shuddered, turned away, and giving
the torch to his companion, said, softly: "Cover her head."

The soldier's wife spread her coarse apron over the face, which-had
smiled so sweetly: but Ulrich threw himself on his knees beside the
coffin, buried his face, and remained in this attitude for many minutes.

At last he slowly rose, rubbed his eyes as if waking from some confused
dream, drew himself up proudly, and scanned the place with searching
eyes.

He was the Eletto, and thus men honored the woman who was dear to him!

His mother lay in a wretched pauper's coffin, a ragged camp-follower
watched beside her--no candles burned at her head, no priest prayed for
the salvation of her soul!

Grief was raging madly in his breast, now indignation joined this gloomy
guest; giving vent to his passionate emotion, Ulrich wildly exclaimed:

"Look here, captain! This corpse, this woman--proclaim it to every
one--the sibyl was my mother yes, yes,